


In Another Story

by sigynstark



Category: Good Omens (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crossover, Human Aziraphale (Good Omens), Human Crowley (Good Omens), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 19:02:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20179189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sigynstark/pseuds/sigynstark
Summary: Yes, I made myself cry with this. I love them both so much. It hurt a lot.





	In Another Story

**In Another Story**

The chubby little blond and the skinny tall red haired boys came from the same orphanage and it seemed they were the complete opposite of each other. The caretakers loved the blond boy because he was so sweet and kind and lovely, while the red haired always caused trouble, mixed with the wrong kinds of kids.

Little Aziraphale Fell, the blond boy, loved all sorts of books, the older the better. He'd been in the orphanage since he was a tiny little infant, and he learned to read at the miraculous age of five. He was that interested in books. He also seemed to be loved by all sorts of animals, birds, in particular; if he sat in the park at least ten bird would sit around him and on his shoulders, and he always fed them. Maybe the food had to do something with that...

Anthony J. Crowley though, was a different kind of boy. He arrived in the orphanage as an infant as well, and he always was more fussy than the other babies. As he grew, all he really cared about was cars and music and causing mischief.

But somehow, they seemed to talk to each other from time to time, and the adults thought maaaybe the red haired would become friends with the blond and the problems would fix themselves. Because they also had nicknames given to both — the Angel and the Demon.

Then they hit age eleven and two interesting letters came to both. And they were off to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Neither of them knew what awaited them, but both were very excited, and couldn't wait to see what would happen in such a school.

At the sorting ceremony it was Crowley's turn first. As he put the big hat and he was blinded by it, the hat started to speak — only to him, of course.

"Hmm, very ambitious to prove himself. Cunning, strong mind. Very well. SLYTHERIN!"

The last word could be heard by the crowd as well, and the Slytherin table welcomed him with cheerful yells and clapping.

Aziraphale watched Crowley walk over and he was worried he wouldn't get in the same House. He didn't know anyone here except Crowley. When it was his turn, he was shaking with fear as he sat and put the hat on his head.

"Loyal, kind, honest and hardworking. I know where to put you. HUFFLEPUFF!"

Aziraphale walked over to the other table where his House mates welcomed him happily. He sat down with trembling lips and knew Crowley was looking at him, disappointed; and he felt bad for not getting sorted in the same House.

____________~*~____________

"Anthony J. Crowley! I'm warning you for the third time!"

"Apologies, ma'am."

"Do you want to go to detention, young man?"

"Of course not, ma'am."

"Why can't you be like Mr. Fell?"

Crowley turned to look at Aziraphale who seemed to be much more interested in what he was reading in the Transfiguration book. Crowley stared back at the teacher.

"And be a boring bookworm?"

Aziraphale pressed his lips together, tightly, to conceal they were trembling. Crowley's words stung. Crowley knew they would and he desperately hoped Aziraphale would turn and tell him to piss off; but it never happened. And it hurt Crowley just as how his words hurt Aziraphale.

"Detention!"

Crowley sighed. Another evening wasted. Another day being ignored by Aziraphale.

____________~*~____________

His Dark Mark stung like a swarm of bees. He was calling.

But Crowley didn't want to go.

It was a mistake; it was the bad people surrounding him and pushing him to do it until he had no choice of turning back. He did a few minor things; blowing up bridges, setting things on fire.

He gathered Aziraphale had a bookshop somewhere in Great-Britain. He thought maybe he should pop in for a visit to see how he was doing.

____________~*~____________

The visit happened a month later.

He got into a terrible fight in which he lost his wand and got injured, probably fatally. He apparated near the destination where he knew that bookshop was; and found the door which he banged a few times before he slid down to the ground, leaning against it.

Aziraphale heard the noise and sighed as he closed his book.

"We're closed!" He called out as he still opened the door to see who was it that late. And when he did, he gasped. "Crowley?! What happened?"

Crowley tried to say something, anything, but all that came out was gurgled words drown in the blood that left his mouth. Aziraphale panicked. He never panicked as much as he did right now.

"Come on", he whispered as he reached down and helped the other get up and inside. He sat Crowley down in his armchair and got his wand out to start and watch up the wound on Crowley's chest. "What happened?" He repeated, "were you attacked?"

Crowley growled quietly and he felt his muscles tensing as he forced back his emotions.

"You got sorted in Hufflepuff."

Aziraphale furrowed his brows and glanced up from his work.

"That wounded you this bad?"

Crowley's thin lips quivered.

"I didn't know anyone but you."

"Me neither."

"And I had to make choices."

"I understand that."

"And mistakes."

"Yes, we all do."

"And I hurt you."

"It's okay, Crowley."

"No, don't say it's okay, it never was!"

They stared at each other. Crowley's injury healed, Aziraphale's spells made the blood disappear and the blond swallowed at the other's stern gaze.

"I forgive you", he said finally.

"Aww, don't say this bullsh—"

"I do." Aziraphale placed a hand on Crowley's left. "You were mean with me sometimes, yes, but I didn't forget when you sent me cookies when you knew I was sick. And I didn't forget the Christmas and birthday presents you've got me, either."

"I never sent you anything", snorted Crowley, obviously lying judging by the way his cheeks reddened.

"You did." Aziraphale smiled. "I know it was you. I always did."

Crowley's face distorted with pain. Not physical, this time.

"Don't forgive me", he asked quietly.

"Why?"

"Because I joined Him."

Aziraphale furrowed his brows in disbelief so Crowley moved his hand to reveal his Dark Mark. They were in silence for long minutes as they both stared at it. Aziraphale could feel his heart sink to the pit of his gut; his hands became cool and his face paled.

"This is one of your cruel tricks, isn't it?"

Aziraphale's question hurt even more. Crowley now saw the other couldn't even imagine him as a Death Eater; chief in mischief, maybe, but not as a murderer. Crowley didn't reply and Aziraphale rose, taking a step backwards, disbelief still written on his face.

"This isn't a joke now, is it?" He questioned and Crowley finally hung his head with a sigh. "I thought you were a little always out of line, but I never imagined that you'd… you'd stand on the side of a group of murderers and criminals."

"I've had no other choice", Crowley protested quietly.

"There's always another choice", Aziraphale turned and walked away.

Crowley felt terrible. He stood as well, dizzy a bit from the bloodloss, he made his way to the door in the dimmed bookshop, only to be stopped by the sound of the kettle going off. He sighed to himself. He shouldn't stay. He'd only get Aziraphale in trouble.

But when he tried to apparate, he couldn't. When he walked over to the door, he couldn't open it; the doorknob was shining when he touched it, but it didn't budge. And Crowley still didn't have his wand.

"I need to go", Crowley shouted.

"Where?" Crowley slowly made his way in the kitchen where Aziraphale was preparing tea for the two of them. He glanced back at Crowley above his shoulder. "Back to those who wounded you?"

"He's going to know if I don't do my job", Crowley protested.

"And what's your job these days?" Questioned Aziraphale. Crowley felt like the other poured icy water over his head. He didn't reply, and the blond didn't push it. "Stay. Just for the night. Crowley, _please_."

He turned with two mugs of hot chocolate and offered a green mug to Crowley. Crowley wondered briefly; everything in this bookshop had colours of black and gold, signature colours of the Hufflepuff house, but Aziraphale kept a green mug? He sipped the hot chocolate. It was amazingly delicious. He never tried making one for himself, and it seemed to him that this one that Aziraphale made was the best he ever had.

"I can't", he said finally.

"Why?"

Crowley let out a grunt and rubbed his the bridge of his nose. He had to tell Aziraphale, because it wasn't right, it wasn't good, he couldn't do it, he just… he couldn't.

"He's planning to attack the school, Aziraphale." When he looked up he saw what he felt inside. "He wants to attack a bunch of _kids_. And I can't… I don't want to hurt kids. I can't do it._ I don't want to go._"

His stomach twisted with worry, but he sipped the chocolate again which seemed to calm his nerves a little. Aziraphale did the same, although he felt nothing of what he was drinking.

"We have to get the children out", he muttered.

"Yeah? And how do you plan to do that?"

To Crowley's surprise, Aziraphale's face lit up and he quickly stepped out of the way when the blond rushed back where his books were. He _accio_d certain tomes and started to open them, read a few passages and murmured himself. Crowley waited and sipped the chocolate again.

"The Room of Requirement", Aziraphale smiled triumphantly at Crowley, who had no idea what the other was talking about.

____________~*~____________

"We're going to die."

Crowley said this for the tenth time in a row as they watched as the kids safely walked in the room to leave the school. Aziraphale was standing beside him, nervously watching out for trouble. Both had their wands out – Aziraphale had a spare he gave Crowley –, ready for anything.

"Eventually, we all will", said the blond finally and the red haired huffed.

"You know they say He's immortal."

"Nobody can achieve immortality."

"Listen, just because you've read a lot of books—"

"Immortality is humbug."

Crowley stared at Aziraphale.

"And if it's not? Just play with the idea."

Aziraphale looked nervous as he glanced back up in Crowley's face. All over these years, decades, he'd hoped he'd meet him again – that's why he had a green mug, in the first place –, this cute, mischievous boy he knew and who grew up to be a handsome, dark man, and now that the time was here it seemed this was the last night they'd spend together. It wasn't fair. If Crowley didn't disappear into the nothingness for years, if he only visited him at least once every few months… if he could just put it into words how much… **_how much…_**

Tears gathered in Aziraphale's eyes and he turned his head away.

"No", he said firmly. "He _can_ die. And He _will_."

Crowley couldn't catch up with that. He didn't understand what those tears meant in Aziraphale's eyes; he dismissed it as fear. And who in their right minds wouldn't be afraid of Voldemort and his wrath, and the thought that He couldn't be killed?

"Let's leave", Crowley said suddenly. Aziraphale stared up at him as if he just slapped him. "I'm serious. Leave with me. Just you and I. We still have a chance, Angel."

Aziraphale's lips quivered. Crowley still remembered the nickname the adults gave him in the orphanage.

"I can't leave the children here", he whispered, no matter how much he wanted to go with Crowley, he had his morals and duties and he wouldn't, for one moment, put his own desires before the protection of the innocent.

Crowley's face darkened.

"You always ignore me."

Aziraphale had tears in his eyes. _Again._

"I don't ignore you, I'm doing what's right—"

"You don't even try and see, do you?"

"I look at the bigger picture! Not what I want!"

"You can't even lie", Crowley spat cruelly. He was angry that Aziraphale dragged him into this; at least until the Death Eaters were busy with the fight here, he could've ran away and hid, but **_nooo_**, he just had to go after this stupid blond man he missed all through those years. "You don't want me around you."

"N-no…"

"You never did."

The words burned Crowley's throat, and they burned Aziraphale's eyes as well.

"Crowley—"

"You've always hated and despised me for being a Slytherin."

**"I never did!"** That tore it. Aziraphale reached out to grab Crowley's arm and as he pulled the man back to face him again, the tears rolled down his pale cheeks. "I've always waited for you, Crowley! I just hoped you'd realise that all those talks in the orphanage we had – everything we went through over the years, those, those years were the best for me. I've missed you." His grip tightened on Crowley's arm, and the red haired felt his heart tightening in sync. "I really did. And I never had the chance to tell you…" He hesitated. The dull sound of the fight starting outside and the panic of how the kids rushed to the door beside them made him nervous. "_Crowley_. You **know**." Aziraphale sniffled. "I know you do."

And just as Aziraphale said that he knew, Crowley knew that the blond knew, too.

_"Angel…"_

And in the next moment, they were blown away from each other by a spell.

**Aziraphale.**

_Crowley._

**Move!**

A hand shook him awake. He felt dizzy, the pain didn't kick in just yet, but he groaned at the hand gripping his shoulder so hard. He glanced up to see Crowley's worried face. He felt something on his cheeks, something warm. Perphaps it was blood…

"_Aziraphale_", Crowley seemed relieved for a moment. But only for that long. He ducked his head before a green curse hit the wall beside them. Aziraphale searched for his wand on the ground. "Move, **move!**"

A stranger's voice suddenly echoed in the corridor.

** _"CROWLEY!"_ **

Aziraphale quickly picked his wand up and shot a spell towards the man who was quickly approaching them, sending him flying quite a few meters back, his back and head hitting the wall and he never moved again. Crowley gripped his arm tightly and yanked him to his feet. Aziraphale felt sick.

"Get in", Crowley pushed him towards the door of the Room of Requirement.

"You too", Aziraphale begged.

"I have a score to settle."

"No! Crowley, no…"

"Yes. I should've done this ages ago."

"I've just got you back, I can't lose you again!"

Aziraphale was on the verge of tears again. Crowley stared at him, took in his expression to remember it well, then without a second thought, he cast a spell to knock Aziraphale out.

But it didn't work. Aziraphale might've looked oblivious, but he saw through the other and easily distracted the spell. He gripped Crowley's free hand with his own.

"Wherever you go, I go", Aziraphale said determinedly, "no matter what we face. Together."

Crowley visibly clenched his jaw. Aziraphale was brilliant, he fought well, but Crowley couldn't bear the thought of losing him forever. Still… as he looked in those determined eyes, he knew he couldn't and wouldn't be able to say no. And they might as well get killed during arguing about this.

"Together", he whispered, kissed Aziraphale's forehead, then pulled him out to the courtyard with himself to fight whatever Voldemort had against them.

____________~*~____________

He silently waited for some kind of miracle.

He always did, if he wanted to be honest.

Because that was what he was good at. He was miraculously good at everything he did.

His eyes stung as he stared down at the tombstone. It had angel wings on both sides, and it was made of marble; a work of art, really. The letters were gold, just as the heart of the Hufflepuff who lied beneath it, six feet deep.

_Loyal, kind, honest and hardworking._

Crowley silently placed the flowers to the bottom of the tombstone and forced back his tears. It shouldn't hurt this much, really. He's been missing from his life in the past ten years on a purpose. Because he knew this sight would hurt in unimaginable ways.

Because he knew he wouldn't be able to stand it.

It was all the worse to know that it was **_his_** fault. **_He_** went to Aziraphale, **_he_** told Aziraphale about Voldemort's plan, **_he_** let Aziraphale go with him to the courtyard.

He should've just stayed there with him that night. Or he should've forced the other to safety through the Room of Requirement. Maybe then they'd both sip tea in his shop now, they'd chat, they'd…

They'd be alive and happy.

"The bookshop business you had wasn't really a bookshop, was it?" Crowley asked from the tombstone with a half smile. He sniffled. "It's not meant for me. But I won't do anything about it because you…" His voice caught up in his throat and tears rolled down his face. He couldn't hold them back anymore. "You loved it." Lips quivering, he let out a sob and wiped his face with the back of his hands. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself, then smiled. "I miss you. Terribly. I miss you more every day." A few sniffles, then Crowley shook his head and shifted closer to the tombstone and stroked an angel wing. "Wait for me. I'll come soon."

He walked out of the graveyard and back in the bookshop.

The sun was shining, the birds sung…

But it never would be the same.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I made myself cry with this. I love them both so much. It hurt a lot.


End file.
